


Hey Little Girl

by howardently



Series: Hey Little Girl [1]
Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 19:18:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4149720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howardently/pseuds/howardently
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Record Store AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey Little Girl

It’s a Thursday morning when he goes over the edge.

They’re the only two people in the store and it’s early, barely past eight. They’ve not talked much this morning, both all yawns and tired eyes. He’d retreated to the security office as soon as he got in. There’s still paperwork to fill out from that kid they’d caught last night slicing open jewel cases and pulling the discs out. He’d closed last night, so it’s up to him to fill it all out, and frankly it’s a special kind of torture this early.

Wednesday night is pound drinks at MacKellan’s, so most of the staff had been there until the wee hours of the morning. He’d not gotten plastered, which is kind of a miracle, but he’d drunk enough to be tight and uncomfortable this morning. She hadn’t been there. He doesn’t know if that’s better, as she probably would have brought her boyfriend and he can’t stand that guy. He never says anything, just sits around and laughs at her jokes and brings her new drinks every half hour as she flits around and chats.

She brings him a cup of strong tea, and he grins up at her in surprise. She’s kind, always kind, but it’s unexpected anyway. She gives him a close-lipped smile, a bit mysterious, but doesn’t say anything. She takes a sip from her mug as she disappears down the hall, and a few minutes later he hears the buzz of her starting the stereo in the cash room.

He drinks the tea too quickly, burning his tongue, so it takes a bit to realize that she’s made it perfect. Half a packet of sugar and two splashes of milk. Of course she’d make it perfect. She’s just like that. He looks up towards the doorway, not really thinking she’ll be there, but sort of hoping anyway.

He finishes the tea in twenty minutes and rises from the desk with a groan, thinking he’ll make more and see if she wants some. He feels better already, the tea having chased away some of the vodka fumes from the night before.

The music gets louder as he goes down the hallway, and as he approaches the cash room window, it pours out heavily from the small opening in the glass. He glances in and stops, still clutching his mug and chuckling silently.

She’s bobbing in time to the beat, her head moving from side to side. As he watches, her shoulders join in until her entire upper body is shifting back and forth with the rhythm. Her hands are busy doling out money into the cash registers on the counter before her, but it doesn’t stop her from dancing from her chair. After a moment, she stands and reaches for something on the shelf above her head, and he’s treated to a view of her plump rear end bobbing too. Her hips start to sway in counter time to her shoulders, and it takes less than a minute before she’s abandoned all pretense of work and is full on dancing, a stack of bills still clutched in her hand. She spins in a circle and he sees that her eyes are closed, her mouth moving with the lyrics, her teeth clamping over her bottom lip when the beat takes over. She spins around a few times, and on a couple of rotations, her mouth is pouted out in duck lips. He moves around the side of the window so that if she opens her eyes, she won’t immediately see him.

He watches until the song is over and she returns to her chair and continues counting. Her shoulders still bob, but it seems her impromptu dance party is over. He suddenly really wants to talk to her. He wonders if she’ll blush when he comes in, if she’ll suspect that she’s been caught. It’s super important that he finds out.

He presses the keycode to unlock the door and enters the room. The music is even louder in the tight confines of the space, the cheery beat thrumming up against the walls. He gets why she’d have to dance to this. She doesn’t notice he’s there; she’s so caught up in the music and her task, so he touches her shoulder to let her know she’s not alone. She jumps at his touch, upending a stack of coins, and she screams. He chuckles as she clutches at her chest and moves to turn the volume down on the stereo to a level that they can talk over.

“Jesus!” She says, and he can tell that she’s annoyed but still cheerful. She always seems cheerful, unlike most of the moody sods who work with them. “You totally messed up my count.”

“What are you listening to?”

She looks up at him standing over her, eyes bright and clear. She tilts her head to the side and gives him a questioning look, like she can’t believe he doesn’t know. “The Ramones?”

And that’s it. That’s the moment when he loses the war he’s been waging against having a crush on her. Something in him slips free and goes into a tailspin, looping and curling through his belly. He looks down at her adorable face, her eyes sparkling with amusement and condescension, and he’s gone.

He looks down at his empty mug and swallows, trying to work through the confusing swirl of emotions that have just flooded him. He’s a simple guy, and it’s usually pretty easy to sort and dismiss what he’s feeling, but this is just a huge tangle of things. Embarrassment is primary, with a longing coming up a close second. “Ah.”

She stares at him for a few seconds, eyebrows raised, like she’s waiting for him to surface back from the swell of affection that’s overtaken him. After a minute, she looks up at the clock.

“Is there something you wanted? I’ve got to get this done, it’s quarter to nine already. I’ve got to put the tills out.”

He shakes himself. Of course. She doesn’t know that he’s just dovetailed into a massive thing for her all of a sudden. She’s just wondering why he’s standing there staring at her like an idiot.

“Oh, uh, I just wanted to see if you wanted more tea. I’m making more tea.”

He’s suddenly painfully aware of choosing his words and how he holds his hands. It’s always been fun to talk to her, easy and flirty and playful. He’s spent a fair amount of time wondering if she’s aware of just how much she flirts with him. She touches his arm and looks up at him from under her eyelashes and blushes kind of a lot. But she’s got a boyfriend, so she probably doesn’t realize what she’s doing.

There’s a surprising amount of innuendo, too. She makes offhand jokes and comments that are just on the edge of raunchy, which he finds both baffling and delightful. She’s a sweet girl, happy and affectionate and cheerful. She’s probably been called cute her whole life, because it’s such an apt description for her. She’s adorable. So when she hints around the fact that she’s something of a sex goddess, it’s shocking and sexy as hell. He thinks for the millionth time that he’d like to ruffle her feathers, push the boundaries just a little to see what she’d do. And to see her blush.

She’s staring at him like an idiot again, a smile creeping slowly higher and higher up her cheeks, and he realizes that she’s replied to his offer while he was sitting there thinking about ramping up his game with her. She’s holding out her mug, and he shakes his head and takes it from her.

He keeps standing there for a minute, wondering if now is the time to start the flirting thing. And just because he likes looking at her sweet, round face raised up towards him. She shakes her head and laughs.

“You definitely need more caffeine, I think. Are you okay today?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He answers, tossing his hand up casually. A dribble of leftover tea sloshes out and falls on his shoulder. He frowns at it, and she laughs again. “I’m just hungover.”

“Anything good happen last night? I wanted to be there, but I had a paper.”

Oh, she’s smart too. He forgets sometimes. It’s with blinding clarity this morning that he finally sees that this girl is way cooler than him. It’s this stupid arbitrary game they all play, ranking themselves in terms of coolness. It’s a silent thing, but everyone knows their spot in the hierarchy. She’s been at the store a long time, she’s a manager, so she’s always high up, but she’s so nice that she sometimes gets knocked down a bit. Haughty disdain for everyone is a big part of the record store thing, and if you don’t think you’re better than everyone else, you can’t be up at the top. That’s just the way it goes. He hasn’t been there that long, less than a year, but he’s in a band, a band that actually records in a studio, so he’s always been way up there too. But here she is, sitting there listening to the Ramones like all the cool kids do, and how has he managed to fake it all this time? And he knows, despite her deceptive niceness, she’s definitely cooler than him.

It’s deeply unsettling.

“Why don’t you come perch that tush on the side of my desk later and I’ll tell you all about it.” It comes out of his mouth without permission, and he has to look at the carpet for a second to keep from groaning. He can play this off if he’s smart about it, if he can watch his fucking mouth for a second. God. It’s not supposed to be this hard. Is this what it’s going to be like from now on, him just saying whatever inane thing pops into his head?

She’s blinking at him, eyes wide, clearly unsure about the direction the conversation had taken. He hadn’t said it in a flirty way, just all matter of fact and normal, so it makes sense that she can’t quite figure out how to interpret it.

“Oooo-kay.” She drawls, pulling her head back and rolling her eyes a little. She bites her lip and he dies inside a bit. “Well, I’m just gonna go back to counting. You go make that tea, buddy.”

He shakes himself and gives her a weird smile. His mouth is not cooperating in anything it seems. He makes a jerky movement with the mugs in his hands and ducks out of the room. He walks the short distance to the break room and sets the mugs down next to the sink. He goes about the motions of making tea, but his head is a storm of conflicting emotions caught in the sludge of his returning hangover. He puts the kettle on and leans up against the counter beside it, rubbing his eyes miserably.

He stays like that, pressing his eyeballs into their sockets with increasing pressure until he can see spots of bright color behind his lids. They look a little bit like hearts. He groans.

“Must’ve been a hell of a night.” She says, rubbing her hand comfortingly but briskly on his shoulder. He can’t tell if she leaves it there a second too long or if he’s just really really aware of her.

He opens his eyes and she’s standing right in front of him, holding a stack of heavy tills propped on her hip. She’s smiling at him sympathetically and he leans his head back to look at her.

“It’s less last night than this morning.” He groans, and he thinks regretfully about the cigarettes that he’d thrown in the garbage two weeks ago when he’d decided to quit.

“Gimme a couple of minutes, and then I’ll be around to talk about it if you want.” She offers, and all he can do is give her a rueful look and shrug. He’d fucking love to talk to her about it. Yes, um, I realized this morning that I’m like crazy into you and it’s doing my head in. Let’s discuss. He grimaces.

“Hey.” She says softly, and takes two steps closer, closing her hand around his shoulder. She makes a face that’s so her; it’s caring and sweet and compassionate and adorable and it makes him feel something red slither in his chest. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”

He smiles at her, and the thought of kissing her right now while the tills smash to the floor pops unbidden into his head. He’s never thought of it like this, never imagined doing it right here in the present where they are. He blows out a breath and nods.

“I hope so.”

\---  
“Okay, do I have to perch my tush on your desk for you to tell me about last night, or will the chair do?” She laughs, breezing into the room and into the righteous sulk he’s been having.

He’s mad that things have changed, mad that he’s suddenly discovered that he likes her, mad that she’s so damn likeable. So, he’s been having an indignant pout. None of its fair, everything’s strange and weird and he’s got the suspicion it’s only going to get worse.

So, of course, he makes it worse.

“What?” He barks, and he can see her visibly balk at his tone. She doesn’t sit at all, just rocks back and forth on her heels.

“I’ve finished my stuff for now, I’ve got some time if you want to talk.” She sounds uncertain, but still her usual relentlessly helpful self. She’s always so damn nice, it’s got to be exhausting. And just at the moment, it’s the absolute last thing he needs. He needs some time to get his head on straight, to figure out how to act like a normal person in the midst of all this new information.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares into his computer screen blankly, clicking mindlessly with his mouse on nothing in particular. He doesn’t even look at her, doesn’t need to see her pretty face or her perfect little pucker of a mouth or her unbearably awesome rack or her legs that go on for days. He doesn’t need to see any of her right now, he needs to not see anything until he can dismantle and compartmentalize all these new troublesome feelings.

“Finn? Aren’t you going to fill me in on everything that happened last night? Anybody snog someone?”

He makes himself look up, but he unfocuses his eyes like he’d learned for those hidden images pictures Chop loves so much. So he doesn’t really see her, just blurry shapes and colors. Still, she’s pretty and his stomach feels tight. He hadn’t felt that hungover before, but throwing up seems like a definite possibility now.

“Actually,” he starts, already regretting what he’s going to say. “I’ve got a lot of work to do. Can we talk about it some other time?”

He tries to make it sound soft, make it less harsh than the brush off that it is, but it sounds flat and brusque even to his own ears. He does look at her then, just in time to see the way her shoulders slump just a little and her face seems to shutter closed. He wants her to stay, wants to abandon all pretense of work and just talk to her all day, but he knows that it’s a shit idea and will definitely get him into trouble. He’s got to have some quiet, some time to get things locked away and manageable. A week would be ideal, or at least a couple of days. But since he can’t have that, a couple of hours will have to do.

“Oh yeah.” She smiles wanly. He watches as she bites the inside of her cheek for a minute thoughtfully, then shrugs. “I’ll just go… work then. Lame.” She chuckles, but it’s quick and almost humorless. “You know where I’ll be if you change your mind.”

He gives her a brief closed lipped smile before returning his gaze to the monitor.

 

—

“Hey.” He looks up to find her disembodied head peeking around the doorjamb. He’s feeling a bit more normal now, and guilty, so he shoots her an intentionally reassuring grin. She’s comforted enough to bring the rest of her body into the room. See Rae, he’s not going to be an ass this time. Please, come in and chat. “I’m gonna order Chinese. Do you want something?”

She walks over and hands him a paper flyer, then sits on the edge of his desk. No, she perches. He clears his throat as he feels a hot flush overtake him. He will not look at her butt. He will not. She seems to remember just a minute after he does, and she moves from sitting on his desk to sitting in the chair across from him. She’s blushing too.

He furrows his forehead as he stares down at the menu, though he’s not really reading it so much as trying not to watch the color brighten her face. God, now he’s thinking about things brightening her face. Maybe he should have just stared at her ass. He’s supposed to have gotten this under control.

“We could order from Golden Eggroll, if you’d rather, but Pink Lotus is closer.” She says, and he glances up to find her picking at the fingers resting in her lap.

“No, this is cool. They’ve got good Kung Pao chicken.”

“Yeah, I know you like it spicy.” She says, and it’s just on the edge of teasing. He looks up to find her grinning at him with raised eyebrows, head still tilted down at her lap. Her eyes are fucking sparkling. That’s got to be flirting, right? Like she knows he likes things spicy in the bedroom? But her face is open and sweet and he can’t quite tell, so he just mumbles something unintelligible and averts his eyes to the menu.

A strained silence falls, a weird silence. They used to have easy silences. Bloody yesterday. But now it’s halting and stunted and strange. It feels like she’s watching him, though he can’t make himself look up to find out. He finds himself compelled to say something.

“Do you like things spicy?” He tries to hide his cringe by studying the menu intensely.

“So spicy. I like things really hot.” She says, and there’s definitely innuendo this time. He’s not even looking, but he can hear her smile, knows what face she’s making just from her tone. When did he start being able to tell her expression without looking at her? He tries not to think about what might get hot if he was with her, about the parts of him that are feeling pretty warm right now.

Finn clears his throat. “So, I’ll just go with the Kung Pao then.”

Rae laughs, and this time he does look up at her. She’s looking at him like he’s one of the crossword puzzles she sometimes does over lunch, like she’s delighted with the opportunity to unravel the puzzle of him.

“All that frowning at the menu, and you just ordered your standard?” He looks back down at the menu like it can give him all the answers. How would he have reacted to her teasing yesterday? It seems like a long time ago. He glances back up as she snatches the menu out of his hand, and she’s smiling as she shakes her head. “Eggrolls, then? Or will that decision make your poor addled brain explode?”

“Course.” The answer comes easy, naturally, and Finn wants to sigh in relief. He lifts up from his chair a bit to pull out his wallet from his jeans. “Here, let me give you some money.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I got it.” She waves her hand in front of her dismissively.

“Are you sure?” He asks, surprised. They barely make a pittance around here. Plus, you know, it’s almost like they’re on a date. In the break room. For forty-five mintues. On a Thursday afternoon. Fuck, he’s pathetic now. Is everyone like this when they get a crush?

“Yeah.” She smiles at him, and something moves in his stomach. He’s just hungry, that’s all. “You can get it next time.”

He bites his lip as Rae floats out of the office and down the hall, and he can hear her muffled voice as she calls the restaurant. Finn swallows. It’s hard not to take that the way he wants to, to not imagine the two of them laughing and tipping back pint glasses on a real date. He knows she just means another lunch on another mundane afternoon. Maybe if he gets lucky, they’ll close together and it will be dinner instead, though with the florescent lighting in the breakroom, it’ll still feel like midday. He stares down at his desk for a full five minutes before actually getting back to work.

—

They’re quiet as they settle around the narrow folding table in the center of the room, her on one side, him on the other. He stops in the doorway to consider, would it be weird for him to sit next to her? He wants to, wants to bump elbows and jostle some lo mein onto her jeans and then dab at her thigh with a napkin. Thankfully, she sets his plate across from her before he has a chance to decide.

She opens cartons, and he watches as she closes her eyes when she sniffs them. It’s not a sexy thing, smelling Chinese food with your eyes closed, but having entertained fantasies of their perfect date for the last forty-five minutes makes almost everything she does seem sexy. She hands over his box of Kung Pao Chicken, and her pinky finger grazes his. He stabs at his Styrofoam plate with a fork in retribution for his stupid awareness of her.

Rae divvies up the rest of the boxes, hands him an eggroll in a greasy paper sleeve. There’s another paper envelope between them on the table filled with crab rangoons, and he reaches for one without thinking. She swats his hand away.

“Hey there, buddy. You had a chance to order whatever you wanted, those are mine.”

He makes an affronted face at her and she laughs, eyebrows raised and challenging. He bets himself that he could get her to give him one, and turns on his best lady-killer, puppy-dog, love-me eyes. He blinks at her, sticks out his bottom lip. “Please.”

She sighs, but her shoulders have softened and she capitulates. He tries not to think about what else he could get from her with that face. He shoves the crab puff into his grinning mouth and she twists her lips up. It feels normal, aside from his ridiculous awareness of her every move. They settle into a comfortable silence as they eat, Rae pulling out an art magazine.

“I’m thinking of cutting my hair.” She says some time later, and he glances up from his own magazine to find her looking at the ends of her hair flipped up in her hand.

“No.” He blurts, forcefully. He does his best to backpedal before her face has time to settle on irritated. “I mean, why? Why would you do that?”

Rae sighs and drops her hair, and he traces the sweep of it with his eyes as it falls back over her shoulder. One strand separates from the rest and drapes over her chest. He’s looking at her hair. Just her hair. “Well, I’ve been wanting to dye it, but it’s too long right now.”

“Dye it? What color would you dye it?” He’s aware that this is coming out too intense, like he’s really invested in the state of her hair. But he is sort of invested. He likes her long, straight, black as night hair. Really likes it.

“I was thinking about blue maybe. Or purple. Angela says it would look really good purple.”

He makes a choking sound. Cut it all off and dye it purple? It would be a crime against… something. Him. It would be a crime against him. He scowls as he shoots back, “What does Angela know about purple hair?”

She laughs. “More than you, I’d imagine.”

“What does your boyfriend say?”

“Why do you always call him my boyfriend? You know his name, you’ve met him like ten times.”

“I dunno, what else would I call him?” He shrugs. He doesn’t call him anything but her boyfriend because the guy is a non-entity without her. And because it feels like saying his name makes him more real. He’s just a shadow at work, a part of her that’s detached and vague. He’s a ghost, unable to show up and ruin things unless you say his name three times in the dark.

“Mark, you could just call him Mark. You know, his name.” She punctuates her sentence with a wave of her eggroll, eyes wide. Fuck, she’s cute. He wishes he had his bass right now; he could write an ode to her adorableness. He’d be so much more impressive than her boyfriend.

“Okay, so what does MARK think about you dying your hair?” He makes the name a sneer, a joke. That guy is a joke, he’s so bloody nice all the time. Maybe almost as nice as her.

She makes a non-committal noise, lifts her shoulders for a moment. “Doesn’t really matter.”

“So, he hates it.” Finn laughs. It’s nice to catch her out for once. Plus, he’d be lying if he said the thought of them disagreeing didn’t thrill him just a little.

“He doesn’t hate it. He just… he likes my hair long, I guess.” Smart man, he things begrudgingly. “He doesn’t want me to cut it. But it doesn’t really matter what his opinion is, it only matters what my opinion is.”

“You’re sitting here asking my opinion.”

“Am not.” She says disdainfully. “I’m just… thinking out loud.”

“No, you’re definitely asking my opinion about cutting your hair.” He grins and shoves a forkful of fried rice into his mouth. He shoots her a smug look, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’d know if I was asking your opinion.”

“Yes, I would.” He nods, gestures at her with his fork. “And I did, when you were sitting here asking my opinion.”

“No. Let me show you what it’d look like. Ok? Are you ready?” She pushes her food to the side, leans forward over the table and puts her hand on his forearm. He freezes, his whole body locking down. He feels like a frightened deer, trapped in the gaze of a predator. She looks at him dead on, eyelashes fluttering. He thinks briefly that he might choke. “Finn, I’m thinking about cutting my hair. What do you think?”

And then they just look at each other for a long minute, her pretty brown eyes locked onto his, despite her fluttering lashes. It holds too long, long enough for things to get still and quiet, for the ticking of the clock on the wall to become a metronome for his heartbeats. He looks away first, to glance down at her hand still gently gripping his arm. Her nails are painted black.

Rae pulls her hand back, and he can’t be sure, but it seems a little bit too jerky. He wonders what she looks like just then, if she’s blushing, if her eyes have gone a bit glazed like his. But it seems too much of a risk to find out. Her face might be giving something away, but he’s sure his is.

He gets himself in order before looking back up and making a show of rolling his eyes at her. See, it’s all normal, nothing to worry about. No sexual tension here. She chuckles lightly. He picks up his fork and goes back to eating and she does the same. After a bit, the quiet in the room loses some of its briskness and goes back to being more comfortable. Ordinary, almost.

As he gets up to leave a few minutes later, he can’t help but stop just behind her and run his forefinger through the hair hanging over her back. She shivers. He knows it’s creepy, knows he’s not supposed to go around just touching girls, especially not this girl. He really needs to not be touching this girl. But something reckless has come over him, winged into his chest and settled there, controlling his limbs like the giant robot from Power Rangers when he was a kid. He knows if she asked him now, if the subject was only just hinted at, he’d tell her flat out and let things fall apart.

He’s got to get the fuck out of this room.

But one last bit slips out before he retreats back to his office to put his head in his hands and struggle to regain his control.

“I know you didn’t really ask me, but I don’t think you should cut your hair. It’s really pretty the way it is.” She doesn’t turn around right away, and he makes sure to leave before she does.

\---  
It’s like a game he’s been playing all day as he sits at his desk and slogs through the paperwork. Where is Rae? Every half an hour he scans through the security cameras to see if he can find her black store t-shirt among the masses milling though the store. Oh, there she is, standing with her arms crossed as she studies a mannequin thoughtfully. Yep, spotted her, crouching down in the DVDs showing a customer something.

But this time, when he spies her behind the counter, his blood starts to boil and he lets out a strangled noise. Because fucking Sean has his hands all over her. She’s got her head thrown back and her eyes closed as he gropes at her shoulders and her upper back. The video is black and white and grainy, but he can practically hear the sensual moans she’s making as Sean touches her. Fuck that.

He looks around the office for a moment, trying to find a decent reason to pull her away from that asshat and his fucking fingers that’s at least semi-plausible. He spots a box of merchandise in the corner, wallets that are yet to be tagged and put on the floor. Good enough.

He’s across the store in record time, approaching the counter before the song playing overhead has finished. It’s the goddamn Ramones. She’d put the Ramones on in the store just to remind him what a twat he is, the cheeky girl. As he comes up to them, he can feel his face getting redder. She is moaning, a deep guttural groan that somehow connects a direct line from his ears to his dick. Fucking Sean. Finn’s supposed to be the one making her make that sound.

Or, wait, yeah, her fucking boyfriend.

In any case, definitely not Sean.

“Hey Rae.” He calls, leaning over the front of the counter, not bothering to take the time to walk all the way around. Rae opens her eyes, shoots him a blissful grin. Sean doesn’t stop pressing his thumbs into her shoulder blades; his fingers curl possessively towards her collarbone. Finn’s never liked Sean, kid can’t take a fucking hint. She’s got a boyfriend, twat.

“What’s up?” She asks, and she’s swaying back and forth as Sean’s fingers press into her flesh.

“I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.” He says, jerking his head stiffly towards the hall that goes to the back. Rae raises her eyebrows and gives him a blank look, so maybe she’s not getting it. “In the office?”

She sighs, pouts out her lips. She reaches up to pat Sean’s hand where it sits on her shoulder, still kneading. God, what is wrong with this guy? Is he fucking deaf?

“Thanks, Sean. Duty calls, I guess.” Rae sighs again, just to make sure Finn knows that he’s inconveniencing her, but he can’t stand to look at the two of them all chummy anymore, so he’s already started towards the office. He can feel her eyes shooting exasperation at his back. He doesn’t turn to look at her, doesn’t wait to hold open the heavy door for her, just goes straight through to his desk and plops back into his chair. Fuck, this chair seems especially uncomfortable today.

She grabs on to the doorjamb as she enters the office, swings her body back and forth. “What’s up?”

“How’re you gonna tag those wallets?” He asks shortly, turning his head towards the box on the floor. She looks over at the box, and then back to him. She stares blankly for a long minute, and he can feel heat creeping up the back of his neck.

“Like I always do, I suppose.” She rolls her eyes, still holding on to the door like she’s not going to commit to having this conversation. They look at each other in irritable silence, and he wonders where that caring girl from this morning went. Maybe Sean rubbed all the niceness right out of her. “Is that all you called me back here for?”

He opens his mouth, face twitching unpleasantly. He knows he probably looks like an asshole. “Well, they should be on the floor.”

She looks up at the ceiling like she can’t believe this is happening, like she can’t stand to be in the same space as him. She shakes her head and inhales deeply. “I’ll put them out later. I’ve been planning to put them out. Is it really important enough to pull me away from a shoulder rub for? It’s midterms, you know. I totally need it.”

“Well, I’ll rub your shoulders then.” He says stupidly, and he punches his leg under the desk. Why is he such a fucking twat? Why can’t he talk to her like normal? This is the worst day of his life.

She opens her eyes wide and gapes at him for a second, and he can practically see the thought bubble over her head: What is this idiot’s problem? She pulls her neck in, blinks at him a few times before she can figure out what to say. He grinds his knuckles into his thigh.

“Have you taken massage classes? Cause Sean has.” She asks finally, turning her head and looking at him from the side and squinting. He shakes his head, but rolls his eyes, just to make sure she knows that he’s chill about all of this, despite the ridiculousness that is his mouth today. 

“Well maybe you shouldn’t be getting massages at all while you’re supposed to be working.”

She drops her head and shoots him an affronted look. Her mouth opens, her head jerks. Fuck, he’s really put his foot in it now. Insinuate that she’s a shitty worker, nice Finn. Keep it up.

“You’re not my boss.” She says calmly, and for a second he’s actually a little afraid of her. So he presses on in his assholery, apparently determined to make things worse and worse with her. The flirting is going so well today.

“No, but I am Loss Prevention, and you’re basically stealing from the company, wasting work time getting back rubs from twats.”

“You just offered to give me one!” She shrieks, tossing her hands up in the air, finally stepping all the way into the room. He can’t think of what to say, so he just raises his shoulders and opens his mouth. “What is with you today?”

“What’s with today today?” He retorts automatically.

Rae drops her hands out of the air to thump softly against her hips. She gives him a wide-eyed incredulous stare, shaking her head, then presses her fingertips against her eyebrows in a familiar motion. She does this to soothe herself whenever a customer is being a complete douche and she can’t deal. Next, she’ll run her fingers along her eyebrows and in a circular motion over her cheekbones until they press together on the bridge of her nose. Yep, there she goes.

“Rae…” He starts, but she raises a hand in front of her to stop him.

“I can’t believe you just quoted that movie at me.” She says, shaking her head again and rolling her eyes toward the ceiling.

Finn sighs heavily. “I’m sorry.” He concedes, giving her an apologetic pout and slumping his shoulders.

“Seriously, what is with you today? You’re being so weird.”

He shrugs helplessly and sinks into his chair, leans his head along the back. He swivels it slightly for a second, silently begging the ceiling for something to tell her. He can feel her eyes on him, feel what he hopes is her checking him out. He’s cheered by the thought, and he stays prone for a bit to give her plenty of time to look.

Eventually he raises his head and offers her a sickly smile. “I’m just hungover.”

“Well, so’s everyone. Have you seen Elena?” Finn laughs, recalling Elena’s crazy nest of hair and black smudged eyes this morning. Rae rolls her eyes again. “Doesn’t give you the right to be a dick. Get your shit together, Nelson. Okay?”

She lowers her head, meets his eyes dead on, and things click back into place. He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Sorry.”

Rae smiles at him fondly, shakes her head again and leaves the room, tapping the doorjamb on the way out. Finn spins around in his chair for a few minutes, and then turns to find her on the camera again. Thank God she doesn’t go back to Sean.

—

The rest of the staff slowly trickles in through the afternoon, and he finds himself busier than he’s been all day. It’s a relief; sale stickering and finding ‘that one song sung by that lady that was in that movie’ keeps him too busy to obsess over the last conversation he had with Rae. He’s unable to keep track of her, though occasionally her laughter drifts through the air and catches him up, and twice he sees her hair turning a corner in front of him.

But mostly, he spends the afternoon not thinking about her, not thinking about much of anything at all. He feels so much better, like maybe he will be able to successfully put all this behind him. He doesn’t like realizing he’s been bumped down on the cool-kid scale, but the busy afternoon helps convince him that it’s a not a devastating drop. He’s still cooler than almost everyone else, just not her.

And, slowly, in fits and spurts between customers and lists, he devises a plan to improve the coolness situation with her too. His band is playing a gig on Sunday, and if he can get her to come, she’ll see that he’s actually a total rock-god badass, and he also might get to hang out with her and maybe even throw back a couple of the imagined pints. Win-win. He’s just got to get her to come.

She’s scheduled until four, but he pops into her office around 3:30 to find her packing up her bag. She’s got her back to him, and as he starts to enter the room, she lifts the hem of her shirt and pulls it off, until she’s standing in just her tiny little tank top and jeans. He ducks back around the doorway, but peeks around the open door and watches as she digs around in her bag.

She’s got a tattoo on her right shoulder that he’s never seen; one that he knows will definitely be sticking around his head later tonight when he’s trying not to think about her, trying not to think about this sudden descent into fancying her. It’s an elaborate fountain pen, shaded in blues and grays. A sinuous line curls out of the nib of the pen and swirls down below the line of her vest top. Where does it stop? Does it curve all the way down her back? Does it swirl into script somewhere? What words would be worthy of being carved into her apricot soft skin?

The groan of the hallway door sounds from behind him and he jumps. He’s really lost it. He’s just standing here in the hallway peeping on Rae in the middle of the day for anyone to see. God. When did he become such a weirdo stalker guy? This morning they’d just been co-workers. Ones who flirted a bit more than others, but still well within the parameters of normalcy.

He clears his throat and enters the room.

Rae turns to look at him over her shoulder, which he notes is now covered with a soft-looking teal cardigan. She looks happy and beautiful and cuddly. He wants to groan, he’s pretty sure he’s never looked at a girl and wanted to cuddle before. She smiles. “Hey. Archie’s here, so I’m ducking out a bit early.”

Finn leans against a file cabinet in what he hopes is a casual manner. The cabinet rocks under his weight and he scowls at it and stands straight. Rae laughs at him and he grimaces at her too.

“Oh, you’re leaving now?” He asks, then silently curses himself for his eagerness. But, oh no, he’s not done. The misfiring wires in his brain are ready to make it even worse. “If you’ll wait a few minutes, I’ll walk out with you.”

Rae furrows her forehead, makes a weird, confused face. Finn winces subtly at the floor. Why on Earth would he need to walk her out? It’s the middle of the afternoon. They’ve never walked out together before, unless it was the whole group at the end of the night. There’s absolutely no reason for him to stroll through the parking lot with her that will make sense, no way to spin that.

He’ll just press on like it’s nothing. It’s the only course of action.

He looks back up at her, presses his lips into a line in an effort to keep his words in. Rae’s cocked her head at him consideringly, and he holds his face absolutely still in an effort not to give anything away. Not that there’s anything to give away. Just wanting to cuddle with her and trace the line of her tattoo with his tongue. Nope, nothing at all. Totally normal.

“Oh, no thanks.” She says cautiously. “I’ve got a ton of school work to get to.”

“You working tomorrow?” He asks, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head. He’s very cool, very aloof. Normal, Finn, normal.

“Nah, I’ve got the next couple of days off. I’ll be here Sunday though. See you then?” She smiles again, and he finds himself automatically returning it, despite the sinking feeling in his chest.

“No, I’m off on Sunday.” He’s torn, because that’s the whole weekend without seeing her. But, it is the in for the plan he’d been formulating. “Actually I’m playing a gig on Sunday. With my band.”

Would he usually say it that way? Separate sentences like that? Ugh. He hates that he has to check every word and every expression now, when it used to be effortless and fun. Talking to her today is decidedly not fun.

“Nice.” Rae smiles and nods, then moves towards the door. But he’s not quite ready to be done with the conversation, not quite ready to let her go and not see her for the whole weekend, though he knows perfectly well that it’s probably better if he doesn’t see her. Except maybe at the gig, sitting at the bar and giggling over one of his jokes. That’s the kind of seeing her that would be fine. Great even.

“You should come.” He blurts, like his body just can’t keep the words in. He’d been trying to work it in casually, but at least he got it out somehow.

“I’ll be working, remember?” She keeps tilting her head to the side at varying angles. It’s troubling, as he knows this is what she does when she’s trying to figure out a problem. The more severe the tilt, the harder it is. He’s watched her labor over math in the break room enough times to know about the head tilt. This is just a slight tilt, but her eyes are pinched.

“Oh, I meant after. After work, you know.”

“Well maybe.” She says, shrugging. She’s nice, but it’s a brush off. He wants to wince. He wonders if this is how she felt earlier when he said he couldn’t talk. Cause it sucks. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to him if it’s not at work, maybe her free hours are ones she doesn’t want to give to him. They never talk much when they’re all out, but he’d put that down to her boyfriend being around. But maybe he’s just a work acquaintance to her.

“It’d be cool if you came.” Rae’s only an arms-length away when she stops to continue the conversation that he’s apparently unable let her out of, no matter how clearly she seems to want to leave. She cocks her head again, at a sharper angle. Her eyebrow quirks and a sympathetic smile warms her face.

“You really want me to come?” She laughs, shaking her head in bemusement. “Where’s it at?”

“Whatever.” He shrugs, trying for nonchalance. “It’s at Yucca.”

“Ok.” She says, starting for the door again. “I’ll see what I can do. Have a good weekend, Finn.”

She pats his arm fondly as she walks by, and he tries to remember that thing he’d read once about what areas of the body indicate intimacy when someone touches them. Was it closer to the face that was good, or closer to the hands? He’ll have to look it up.

By the time he comes out of his pondering, she’s already pushing open the door to outside, so he has to call after her. “Bye Rae!”

She spins around, walking backwards and shooting him a smile and a wave. The heavy double doors close behind her with a definitive thunk, and he finds himself sagging into a chair, knees suddenly unable to support the weight of him. His head spins, throbbing unpleasantly. He thinks absently about going in search of some water and some painkillers, but dismisses the idea when he realizes he’d have to move. What can he find to do at her desk for the last half an hour before his shift is over?

“How’s it going, mate?” Archie claps him on the shoulder as he crosses the office. Finn grunts. “You look like you’re having a rough day. Did you get really pissed last night?”

“No, it’s just…” Normally, he’d keep this kind of information to himself; nobody needs to know who he’s interested in. But today, he’s just got to tell someone. Maybe Archie can tell him how to fix this ridiculous situation. “I think I fancy Rae.”

Archie turns to face him, still for a moment, then starts laughing. He laughs hard enough that he’s doubled over and wiping tears from underneath the rims of his glasses. Finn scowls, the pounding of his head increasing, but doesn’t say anything until Archie’s done.

“Thanks a lot. You’re really fucking helpful, you know that?”

“Sorry. Sorry.” Archie can’t stop grinning, the wanker. “Are you just figuring this out? We’ve all known for ages. There’s a pool.”

“Great, just fucking great.” Finn groans, spinning around in the chair to rest his head on his folded arms. Just what he needs, the whole staff speculating about him and Rae and his inability to talk to her today. It just keeps getting better. His ears are covered by his biceps, so he almost doesn’t hear when Archie finishes.

“If it helps, we’re all pretty sure she’s fancies you, too.”

Finn looks over his shoulder at Archie, who is still grinning madly, which ought to piss him off, but doesn’t. Because, yeah, that actually does kind of help.


End file.
